


yeah i'll stick around

by weatheredlaw



Series: radio edit [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, One Night Stands, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2177718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What the fuck is a rehearsal dinner anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	yeah i'll stick around

**Author's Note:**

> in my mind this fic started out as tucker/wash, with me intending wash to be the sexually frustrated wedding photographer (who could still make an appearance, i guess, i kind of want this to be a series) -- but the narrative got away from me pretty quick and i'm a sucker for ships that don't get a lot of love, and i love tucker and grif's relationship in the series. i know we don't get a lot of it, but i imagine in another life, they would have gotten along well. 
> 
> you know, like, sex friends.

"This is fucking _bullshit_ , man."

"Hey, Tucker? Shut the fuck up." 

"Who the _fuck_ wears a goddamn cummerbund anymore, seriously." Tucker inspects the pale yellow monstrosity around his waist and scowls. "And this color sucks."

"Take it up wih Tex."

"You mean _Allison?_ " Church looks over at him from his own fitting and Tucker shuts up pretty quick. He isn't sure why he's bitching about this anyway, he's not the one getting married -- thank God -- and he's probably going to be too drunk to remember it all anyway, if he's lucky. "She's probably pretty fucking pissed you're getting fitted three days before the wedding, huh?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Yeah, that--"

"Church! Church, I made it. I am so sorry I'm late, there was--"

"Caboose. Don't talk. Don't look at me. Just get your damn tux fitted." 

Caboose looks around, sunglasses crooked over his eyes. Even from where he's standing, Tucker can see the confusion on the poor kid's face. "I got fitted a month ago. Tex told me to, and I kinda just do everything she asks me to? You know, because she's _kinda scary._ " He glances between the two of them. "I'm just here for moral support. And to make fun of Tucker!" He grins and plops down on the floor between them. 

 

 

 

Tucker had decided, like, a _million_ years ago he wasn't getting married, but watching Church and Tex go through all this hell, just for one day -- it reminds him exactly why he made that choice. What the fuck is a rehearsal dinner anyway? 

"Tucker. _Tucker._ "

"Caboose, _what?_ "

"I asked for salmon and I got chicken. Can I trade you?" Tucker looks down at his plate and nods, not even hungry. Caboose grins and puts his plate of chicken in front of Tucker with a flourish. "There! Much better." 

"This fucking sucks. Who are these fucking caterers anyway?"

Church downs what looks to be his fifth or sixth glass of wine and points to the group of guys hovering near the kitchen in red aprons. "Tex's mom found them. Don't even know, dude. Just like, _whatever._ "

"You're drunk."

" _You're_ drunk."

Tucker stands. "Okay, this has been fucking stupid? So I'm gonna go home."

"Mmkay, dude. You, uh--" Church reaches across the table and takes Caboose's wine. "You do that. See you tomorrow. Happy wedding, or something."

"Yeah, man. Happy wedding." Tucker does grab an unopened bottle of wine on the way out, making his way past the kitchen and the caterers as he goes.

"Hey, _dude._ "

Tucker groans. "Oh my God, _what?_ What do you want?"

One of the caterers points to the bottle and scowls. "That's ours, and you can't take it. See? It has our logo on it?"

Tucker looks from the bottle, to the guy -- he has a nametag, reads: "Grif" -- and hands it back. "Fine. It's not good anyway."

"It is once you've had enough, like your friend over there." Grif jerks his head toward Church. "We're saving the good stuff for tomorrow."

"Yeah? I hope you're saving the good food for tomorrow, too, because that chicken was bland as fuck."

Grif bristles and sets the wine bottle down, hard, on a food cart and turns on his heel to go back into the kitchen, muttering, "Asshole," under his breath. Tucker watches him walk away -- kind of a big guy, nice ass for what it's worth -- and finally shrugs it off, heading out to his car. 

 

 

 

The problem is Tucker gets home and he's hungry. And he wants a drink. One of his best friends is getting married tomorrow, and for some reason, he's just realizing how weird things are going to be. Even Caboose is going steady with someone, and he never thought he'd have to say _that_ out loud. Sighing, he takes a cab back into town and grabs a burrito and a beer from a food truck, sitting down at one of the card tables they set out on the sidewalk to eat in solitude.

"So you won't eat the chicken, but you'll eat a burrito off of a truck?"

Tucker turns around to see Grif in. "Oh, hey, it's Asshole McGee. What's up?"

"The boss doesn't let us eat the food we serve--"

"Because it tastes like shit--"

"-- _because_ he's a stingy bastard." Grif orders some tacos and a beer and sits next to Tucker. "So what are you, the best man?"

"Nope." Caboose had won the not-so coveted role, mostly because Tex has always liked Caboose more and Tucker wasn't motivated enough to do everything it required. "You a chef?" Grif nods, putting Sriracha on his tacos. "You should have let me leave with the shitty wine."

"Why? So you could sit at home in your socks and eat Fritos? Not to get too full of myself, but I'm pretty sure I saved you from, like, killing yourself or something. So, you know. You're welcome." Tucker kicks him under the table. "And now you're gonna play footsy with me. Listen, uh..."

"Tucker."

"Right. _Tucker._ " Grif stops, smiling for a second, then going back to berating him. "I'm not your guy. Sorry."

"Why? You in a committed relationship with your right hand?"

"I'm ambidextrous, first off. Second, you seem like a dick. And _I_ , actually, am a really nice guy. And my mom says I need to have standards."

"What makes you think I'm hitting on you?"

Grif laughs. "Uh, because I wasn't born yesterday?"

Tucker shrugs, conceding. "Yeah, okay."

"But I can get _super_ mean after, like, two beers. And you know, they _say_ opposites attract, but you and I both know that's, like, total bullshit."

Tucker turns around and buys two more beers.

 

 

 

Despite getting back to his apartment at two in the morning and getting fucked for, like, a good half hour, Tucker still manages to wake up at six like he's supposed to. Grif is showering in his bathroom, which makes him feel a little better, for some reason, so he rolls over and tries to get in five more minutes.

Five turns into twenty and when Tucker wakes up, it's with water dripping into his face. "Dude! What the fuck?"

"Oh hey, you're up. Yeah, your alarm won't shut up? And I was kinda hoping, you know, since we're going to the same wedding, that you'd give me a ride. Since we're committed now and everything." Tucker takes the other pillow and whacks Grif in the dick. " _Ow, ow ow_ , I'm kidding, Jesus _Christ!_ " Grif falls onto the bed, laughing and rubbing his eyes. "Okay, but seriously. Can you give me a ride?"

Tucker kicks off the sheets and heads toward the shower. "Yeah, dude, just don't ask me to haul any of your stupid catering equipment."

 

 

 

"Okay, this is the last one, I _promise."_ Tucker looks into his backseat and counts sixteen pans and two enormous bins of cuttlery. He looks back to the passenger seat where Grif is getting in and stares. "To be fair, you didn't say you _wouldn't_ help me. You just said not to ask."

"Which you didn't."

"Baby. _Baby._ Don't get like that, c'mere--" He reaches over and Tucker smacks his hand away, switching gears instead. Grif hoots with laughter. "Oh man, you are _fun_ , I like you."

"I'm gonna murder you after the reception."

Grif grins and says, "With your _dick_ I hope." Tucker's so endeared, he makes out with him at a red light and gets honked at eleven times. 

 

 

 

For a woman who has threatened to kill him on more than one occasion, Tex looks pretty good, if Tucker were pressed for the truth. Which he hasn't been, so if anyone just asks, or whatever, he'll say something derogatory about her virtue and probably get sucker punched later -- but it'll be worth it.

Grif was kinda right about saving the good wine for the wedding. It disappears like juice boxes, and even Caboose is pretty sloshed only part of the way through. Church only stopped being drunk for the actual ceremony, and abandoned sobriety pretty damn fast after that. Tex didn't seem too far behind him. Tucker's the only one left at the table designated for the wedding party, nursing his own private bottle as he watches everyone dance. 

"Aw, you're like a wallflower or something." Tucker looks up to see Grif standing over him, red cup filled with wine. "You didn't mention how friggin' _lonely_ you were last night."

"Nothing like a wedding to remind you your life is meaningless and no one loves you, amiright?" 

Grif sits next to him and shrugs. "Or, it could be a reminder of the overwhelming power of love and connection. Something like that."

"That's kinda dumb."

He nods. "Yeah, I'll give you that one."

Tucker leans back in his chair, finishing off his wine and looking at the empty bottle. "I think it's a sign."

"That you're an alcoholic?"

" _No_ , dipshit. That I'm done. Time to blow this fruit stand."

"Technically, this is a hotel."

"I actually hate you, I think."

Grif smiles. "Nah, you like me. That's why you let me come in your mouth."

"Dude."

"Sorry, I'm not good at romance."

Tucker shakes his head. "Believe me, I'm not asking you to be."

"Good, because I'm also not good at meeting expectations. Of, like, _any_ kind." 

"So if I expected you to come back to my place tonight, you'd be unable to comply?"

Grif pretends to think. "Huh. You know, that sounds more like a request, and less of an expectation. And I am _great_ at filling requests. I was a DJ in college." 

"Liar."

"Busted." 

Tucker looks out at the crowd, at Caboose and Sheila, who will probably do this themselves in a year; at Church and Tex, the couple he bet against time and time again, even when the odds finally told him to stop, and he was just doing it on principle, in the end -- he looks back at Grif, drinking wine out of a Solo cup, his apron on crooked and his hair pulled back away from his face. Tucker doesn't know this guy, not even a little bit, really -- but he's peaceful, which is a change of pace for him. And he smiles. Like a lot.

"You wanna get out of here?" he finally says.

Grif shakes his head. "I gotta clean up."

"You wanna get out of here after you clean up?"

"Are you gonna help me?"

"Fuck that, dude."

Grif smiles, leaning forward and pulling Tucker in closer, their wine-slick lips pressing together warmly. There's a prickling sensation starting in Tucker's fingers, and it's probably the wine, but the tiny bit of an idealist in him says it's the start of something completely different.

"I think," Grif says quietly, "that I'm gonna enjoy this."

Tucker would agree with him, but his mouth is a little busy.


End file.
